


Cupcake Queen in the North

by OrangeTabby



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Angst and Humor, Baking, Cupcakes, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, May/December Relationship, Modern Westeros, Petyr Baelish is His Own Warning, Sexual References, families
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29052876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeTabby/pseuds/OrangeTabby
Summary: Seven years after gaining custody of her younger siblings due to a family tragedy, Sansa Stark feels pulled in a million different directions. Home, work, money, life. But the people she meets during a disciplinary meeting at Rickon’s high school will change her life forever.A story about giving up your dreams and finding them again in the most unexpected places.
Relationships: Shireen Baratheon/Rickon Stark, Stannis Baratheon/Sansa Stark
Comments: 68
Kudos: 153





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely Stansa people, I couldn't resist the lure of returning to your plush and well appointed yacht! I hope you enjoy this story 😊

“The principal caught you making out with a girl behind the bike sheds?” Sansa said incredulously. She finished buttoning up her cardigan to cover the logo of her company-branded shirt. Her work clothes always smelled faintly of latex, but there was nothing she could do about that without getting changed.

The chairs outside the principal’s office were hard moulded plastic, a rebuke not a comfort. She dropped her handbag on the ground as she sat on the uncomfortable seat, stretched her legs out as much as she could in her tight pencil skirt and suppressed a groan of relief from being off her feet. Her mandatory high heels caused nothing but pain. “Rickon, what were you thinking?” she continued.

Rickon slumped down in his seat, his arms folded defiantly, further crinkling his already haphazard school uniform. His curly auburn hair, the same shade as her own, flopped over his eyes. “I really like Shireen, Sans. But her dad is super protective and crazy. We can’t see each other outside of school, even as friends. All she does is endless extracurriculars.”

“I didn’t even realise you were dating anyone.” Sansa wiggled her toes as she spoke, trying to get sensation back into them. “Why didn’t you ask if she wanted to come over at the weekend, if she’s busy during the week? I can chaperone if her dad is worried about you two being alone.”

“Shireen has trouble believing I’m interested in her like that. I just…” Rickon paused and cleared his throat. “I just wanted to show I thought she was cool. She’s gorgeous, Sans. And smart, and she works super hard. She wants to go to medical school next year.”

Sansa pinched the bridge of her nose. She could feel a tension headache starting. “You know you were on thin ice with the school. No more disciplinary incidents. You’re almost eighteen, you just need to get through this year.”

Rickon adopted a mulish expression. “You’d like Shireen, I’m sure. She likes the same kind of history and books and shit that you’re into. She even bakes and she shared some homemade cookies with me last week.”

Sansa huffed. “I’m sure I would like her, if you’d introduced us before getting me suddenly called in to see the principal with you after, let me remind you, you chose to make out with your girlfriend behind the bike sheds.”

Rickon mouthed the word ‘girlfriend’ as if trying it out for size, but then looked at Sansa, stricken. “Oh gods, are you going to get fired from the dildo factory? Your shitty boss will fire you, won’t he? Fuck I hate that creep.”

“RICKON STARK do not use that terrible language,” said Sansa sternly, using her best Cat Stark voice. A pang of grief swept through her at the memory of her mother. She shoved it away and shook her head. “And stop calling it a dil… that. Mr Baelish said he understands. Hopefully it’ll be fine.”

“I’ve fucked everything up.” Rickon slumped further and covered his face with his hands.

Sansa put her arm around him like she used to do when he was younger. She didn’t bother to correct his language again. “Let’s see what Mr Selmy says about this, um, situation.”

They didn’t have to wait any longer because the door to Principal Selmy’s office opened and the man himself ushered them in. Rickon’s girlfriend was already in there. Sansa had missed seeing her go in as she’d been at work when she got the call to come in to school.

The girl, Shireen, Sansa remembered Rickon calling her, had the same crossed arms and mulish expression Rickon had adopted. A large disfiguring scar covered one side of Shireen’s face, which looked like the pictures of greyscale Sansa had seen in history books. Most babies got vaccinated against the deadly disease and despite her annoyance at the situation, Sansa’s heart went out to the girl who must have suffered terribly at one point in her life.

“You okay, Shir?” said Rickon, taking a step towards the girl.

“Have you not done enough, young man?” There was a man sitting beside Shireen, who must be her father, given the family resemblance of black hair and robust jawlines. He seemed a little familiar, Sansa realised, but she couldn’t place him. Sansa was close enough to notice he had an unusual shade of dark blue eyes, and an intense physicality about him. He must be tall too because he was perched awkwardly on the modestly sized chair. He was dressed formally, in a shirt and tie, which was unusual in laid-back White Harbor. She felt an unwelcome stab of attraction, which she hurriedly shoved away to the same area of her heart she’d banished memories of her mother.

“Leave Rickon alone,” said Sansa quietly to the man instead. “He would never force anyone to do anything they weren’t willing to participate in. It’s perfectly normal for teenagers to have relationships, especially at this age.”

The man scowled ferociously as he looked between her and Rickon. Shireen appeared relieved at Sansa’s support, but she didn’t speak.

Mr Selmy cleared his throat before anyone could say anything else. “Rickon, Miss Stark, why don’t you both take a seat.”

Sansa and Rickon took the chairs beside Shireen and her father. These chairs featured padding on the seats, which was a small mercy. Sansa swallowed nervously. Surely Rickon would not get expelled for such a comparatively minor offence. Even with his record of behaviour issues.

Her parents had despaired over Rickon’s behaviour at school until the car accident that ended their lives. Then it became Sansa’s responsibility. She had thought Rickon was in a better place now after years of all their extra money going to pay for therapy and behavioural management sessions for him. He’d improved vastly from the wild child he had been, but the damage had been done on his school permanent record.

Sansa had tried her best to do the right thing by her youngest brother, but she had barely been an adult when she took sole responsibility for Arya, Bran and Rickon. They all had to deal with the devastating grief of losing their parents and older brother all at once, in addition to Bran’s lifelong injuries from the crash.

“I told you, Mr Selmy,” declared Shireen passionately. “It was my idea. Ric doesn’t deserve to get into trouble. I knew, um, this kind of thing was against school rules, but I wanted to anyway.”

“If anyone should get punished it should be me,” said Rickon with equal fervour. “You’ve got a clean record Shir, I don’t want to be the cause of anything that hurts you. Another black mark wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Rickon no,” said Sansa quickly, “you can’t want to get punished.”

“What would I do if you got expelled? It would be awful here without you.” Shireen shook her head sadly.

Shireen’s father was visibly tense, his jaw clenched. “This young man is a known troublemaker?” he said, sounding aghast. “Shireen, I raised you better than that.”

“He’s not a troublemaker,” interjected Sansa. “You don’t know anything about him.”

The man made a rude noise. “I know he behaved inappropriately with my young daughter.”

“He’s not a bad person, Dad. We’re… really good friends.”

Sansa watched as Shireen looked at Rickon and made a face. Her brother responded with a small smile.

“The school doesn’t have any issues with student relationships,” said Mr Selmy in a loud voice. “What we have an issue with is sexual activity on school property. I understand you have both reached the age of consent…”

Shireen’s father jumped to his feet, rounding on Rickon. “You seduced my daughter?” he boomed.

Sansa sighed. Her stress headache was getting worse.

Rickon stood up too, snarling. “Shireen is amazing, and beautiful and perfect. I would never do anything she didn’t…”

“We just kissed,” said Shireen, tugging on her father’s arm. Her face had gone bright red, making the grey scars stand out even more.

“Please sit down Mr Baratheon, Rickon,” said Mr Selmy, his frown taking in them both. “The school considers kissing to be sexual activity and is therefore against the rules.”

“Rickon’s done so well this year,” said Sansa desperately. “Please Mr Selmy, this seems like such a minor mistake.”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” said Rickon hotly, slowing sitting back down. “Nothing about Shireen is a mistake.”

“Why would you let this young hoodlum lead you astray? What have I done wrong?” Shireen’s father, Mr Baratheon, scowled even more fiercely, though he too sat again.

Sansa was bought to mind of her mother cautioning her children that if they made rude faces, the wind would change, and they would become stuck that way. Despite the situation, Sansa wanted to have an extremely inappropriate giggle at the thought of the man’s face fixing into a permanent glower. It would suit his unpleasant personality.

“You’ve not done anything wrong, Dad.” Shireen’s face turned redder. “Except stop me ever having a social life, so all I do is study. It’s hard enough for me to make friends without me being the weird kid who isn’t allowed to do anything fun. Rickon has showed me there is more to life.”

Mr Baratheon snorted rudely. “Like engaging in inappropriate behaviour at school?” He shot a glance at Sansa. “He clearly does not have adequate parental supervision to help curb him.”

Sansa opened her mouth to reply to his rudeness, but Rickon bet her to it.

“Our parents are dead, you utter prick.” Rickon’s voice was savage, and he clenched his fists.

There was a lengthy pause.

Guilt swamped Sansa as everyone sat there awkwardly in the aftermath of the angry words. She tried her hardest, had done so for the past seven years, but she never quite shook the feeling she was failing Rickon. That she had failed all her siblings. She could never hope to live up to her parent’s legacy.

“You’re being horrible, Dad,” whispered Shireen, loud in the silence. “There’s no need to be so mean.” She glared at her father and his jaw clenched even more, if that were physically possible.

“Two months detention for you both,” said Mr Selmy, cutting into the fraught atmosphere. “And any more inappropriate public displays of affection will result in suspensions. Rickon your behaviour this year has been largely acceptable. Shireen your record and grades are exemplary. I am willing to show lenience but as senior students in your final year of school, I need you both to be role models for all the students.”

“Yes Mr Selmy,” both teenagers muttered.

“Rickon, Miss Stark if you could both stay a little longer, I have some information for you. Shireen you may go back to class. Thank you for your time, Mr Baratheon.”

There was a vein throbbing in Shireen’s father’s forehead, but he simply mumbled a terse goodbye to the principal and stalked out after his daughter without a glance at Sansa and Rickon.

***

“What the fuck is a mentoring scheme supposed to do?” said Rickon through a mouthful of fresh raspberry.

“Language Rickon. Anyway, Mr Selmy’s explanation seemed reasonable.” Sansa squinted at the bush and selected a raspberry to add to the collection in her bowl. “And you’ll get to have some work experience. I don’t think this intended as a punishment.”

It was a beautiful summer's day in White Harbor, with fresh breezes curling in from the sea and a bright crisp sky overhead. Their little cottage sat on the far edge of town, just in sight of the old city walls, surrounded by a large garden. Sansa had turned the whole lawn into fruit and vegetable gardens, in raised beds made by Arya who had discovered quite a flare for woodwork some years ago. Money had been tight since they moved in and it helped to have fresh produce from their garden always on hand. Sansa’s passion was baking, and she loved to use the fruit and herbs in her cupcakes.

Some evenings she would just wander around them, blissfully barefoot in the cold, trying to find a measure of peace after a long stressful day at work. She would take restorative deep breaths, living in the moment, enjoying the sweet smells of sun-warmed peas on the vine, spikes of savoury rosemary, and loamy earth.

Bran looked up from his laptop, distracted by their conversation. He had parked his wheelchair on the path nearest the berry bushes, though he was working on an assignment for University. “Jojen did a similar program in our final year of high school. He said it was fun.”

“Fun?” said Rickon sceptically, wrinkling his nose.

“Maybe Shireen is also involved in the mentoring scheme?” said Sansa slyly, eating a raspverry herself when Rickon wasn’t looking.

Rickon’s voice was morose. “It might be the only way I’ll get to see her.”

“You were only seeing her at school anyway,” Sansa pointed out.

Rickon groaned dramatically and stole another handful of raspberries from Sansa’s bowl. “Her dad will forbid her from talking to me.”

“He might not, he might be reasonable.” Sansa tried to sound optimistic. Shireen’s father really did have very attractive eyes, though. Sansa shoved that unwelcome recollection away with the reminder that he was clearly a controlling jerk and spoke fast to cover her improper thoughts. “Anyway, he couldn’t police that at school. It’s not like he goes with her.”

Bran shot her a narrow-eyed glance, as if he sensed the inappropriate track her thoughts had taken.

After the debacle with her ex-boyfriend Harry, Sansa had struggled with relationships. She understood in theory that not every man would cheat on her and then publicly blame her for having too many ‘burdens’ that caused her to be ‘no fun anymore’, but it was hard not to mistrust anyone’s motives. Anyway, all men had seemed to want in the past few years was no strings attached sex once they discovered she was the caregiver for her younger siblings, and Sansa had no interest in that. She couldn’t quite believe it had been seven years since their parents and Robb had died. She’d only been eighteen, just a year older than Rickon was now. They had all grown up fast.

Sansa located a particularly fruitful branch of berries and carefully picked them. It was times like this she missed Arya, who was studying over in Braavos. Arya always found the best berries. “Don’t take any more,” she said to Rickon. “Pick your own. I need enough for the cupcakes. I want to try a new flavour, raspberry and rosemary. I’m going to call it ‘roseberry’.”

“Oi, what about me?”

Sansa hummed and walked over to Bran, offering the bowl for him to take a handful. “Sorry, yes, I need enough for the cupcakes and for Bran to steal.”

“Quite right,” said Bran grinning unrepentantly before popping a raspberry into his mouth.

“If only Shireen had a phone, I might at least text her.” Rickon glumly ignored the sibling byplay. He dropped to his stomach, and reached into the raspberry bush, apparently heeding Sansa’s warning about finding his own berries. “She’s not allowed one, like she’s a little kid.”

Sansa stepped over Rickon, bending to search behind the bush. “I don’t know Ric, every family has different rules. Her dad must be so strict for a reason.”

Rickon rustled from under the bush, then crawled backwards with a handful of fat berries. “I think something horrible happened with her, you know. Something with her mum.” He sat back on his heels, and tapped his cheek with his empty hand. “But she doesn’t like to talk about it.”

A flood of compassion for the girl filled Sansa. “Let’s wait and see. Perhaps things won’t be as bad as you believe.”


	2. Things That Are Not Sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had way too much fun with this chapter, so *coughs* I apologise in advance!
> 
> (I will include a warning for an unwanted sexual advance, but it's dealt with swiftly)

Sansa took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Being called in to see Mr Baelish might not be a good sign. Then again, it could be a promotion, though contrary to the glossy recruitment brochures there was not much scope for advancement in the administration department. Ros already had what most employees considered to be the best job, and there was no way Sansa wanted to replace her as Mr Baelish’s Personal Assistant.

Ros wasn’t at her desk outside the room, so Sansa knocked and waited for the summons to go into Mr Baelish’s office.

“Come in, Sansa sweetling,” was the response. “Please enter and sit down.”

Sansa loathed when her boss Mr Baelish called her by a pet name, but she smiled at him anyway as she walked through the door.

Some years ago, Mr Baelish had offered her a job after they had to sell the family holdings in Winterfell and move to a modest house in White Harbor. The building modifications to make their new home wheelchair accessible for Bran had taken all their money, and things had looked dire. The successful businessman been an old friend of their mothers and had said he wanted to help her children, since they were all that was left of Catelyn Tully Stark. Sansa had only studied for a year at Kings Landing university, and one-third of an undergraduate history degree wasn’t going to help anyone’s employment chances. Jobs had long been scarce in the depressed Northern economy, and so she swallowed her pride and started working at the last place she thought she’d end up. If Mr Baelish was friendlier than a boss should be, well, at least the pay was reasonable, and he’d never overtly crossed any lines. The administration work was terribly dull, and the odour of sex toys haunted her dreams, but it paid the bills.

Sansa quickly moved across the office and sat down. It was only the morning, so her feet didn’t yet hurt, and Sansa thanked the old gods for small mercies.

Mr Baelish was standing beside the display case of his award-winning White Walker range. The thought crept in that her irreverent siblings would probably label it a ‘dildo shrine’. The icy blue reflection cast from the silicone moulded appendages shone a tint upon Mr Baelish’s pale skin. He watched her sit, his lips quirking up slightly.

A large green pump container of mint flavoured personal lubricant sat prominently on Mr Baelish’s desk, beside a similar bottle of hand sanitiser. Sansa eyed them uneasily. The entire room smelled faintly of mint and the usual signature factory scent of latex.

“Hello Mr Baelish,” she said as she dragged her gaze away from the desk and plastered on a big fake smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Do call me Petyr,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back and strolling around the room. “I have some concerns about yesterday.”

Sansa twisted in her seat to face him. “Yes, of course, I apologise for having to leave so abruptly. It was a family emergency. You said you understood though? I was under the impression everything was fine.”

Mr Baelish unclasped his hands and ran his finger along the edge of the case displaying the Targaryen Dragon range. Sansa knew she wouldn’t be able to look at the Balerion the Black Dread without blushing, so she kept her gaze firmly on her boss.

“You’ve had more than your fair share of ‘family emergencies’ with your younger brother. Dickon wasn’t it?”

“Rickon,” Sansa corrected. She could feel her smile slipping.

“Sweetling,” Mr Baelish said, his voice caressing the endearment with a low purr. “I simply can’t employ someone who keeps leaving work like that.”

A tight ball of anxiety clenched in Sansa’s chest. “It won’t happen again. Each time I’ve finished any tasks I left incomplete. I started early this morning for that reason.”

“Unfortunately, Sansa, we at Mockingbird Adult Enterprises pride ourselves on employing top quality people. Not those who keep having family emergencies.” Mr Baelish shook his head, giving what Sansa assumed was a sigh of disappointment. “I’m afraid you’ve given me no choice but to issue a notice of termination of your employment.

Sansa stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. “I’m sorry what?” she said stupidly.

“Your position at Mockingbird Adult Enterprises will be terminated. Unless…”

“Unless?” Sansa said, swallowing hard.

Mr Baelish paused beside the Titans of Braavos case, containing their best-selling line. The golden items sparkled prettily in the light, a proprietary mixture of marbled medical grade silicone and rubber. “We may be able to come to a, shall we say, mutually beneficial arrangement? In which you might keep your job.”

“Mutually beneficial arrangement?” Sansa shook her head in frustration. All she could apparently do was dumbly parrot what Mr Baelish was saying, the shock of his words hindering her ability to process the situation.

The door swung open abruptly and Ros walked backwards into the room, holding something pink in each hand.

“The tentacles for the Iron Islands range are here, Petyr,” said Ros, examining the items without looking up. “I think I prefer the ten-inch. The twelve-inch is a bit too intimidating, and the thagomizer on the end might be a tad daunting for the customers.”

Sansa could see the Personal Satisfaction Devices, as Mr Baelish insisted his employees call them, now. Thick, long and bright pink with realistic suckers along the length. Sansa couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship. They would probably have their own display case, one day. Ros was right though, the thagomizer was a touch over the top.

“Oh, hey Sansa,” Ros said, finally looking up. She looked between Sansa and Mr Baelish, and frowned, evidently sensing the tension in the air.

“I’m busy my dear,” said Mr Baelish, raising his eyebrows at Ros.

“Right, yes, well I’ll just leave these here shall I?” Ros scurried effortlessly across the room on her stilettos, placing the prototypes on Mr Baelish’s desk. The pink spikes on the end of the twelve-inch quivered dramatically with the momentum.

Sansa wanted to tell her to stay, but Ros hurried out again without making eye contact.

Mr Baelish cleared his throat, then leaned against the edge of his desk. Both tentacles wobbled in response.

“It’s well known in the Mockingbird work family that you insist upon remaining single.”

Sansa sat up straighter, uneasy.

“What I do or do not do on my own time isn’t relevant to my work, Mr Baelish,” Sansa said as politely as she could.

“Call me Petyr, please sweetling. It seems detrimental to your work to waste such a beautiful woman on eternal spinsterhood.”

Mr Baelish’s reasoning escaped Sansa, and she dropped the idea of being overly polite and scowled at him as fiercely as Shireen’s awful father. Perhaps the wind would change, and she and Mr Baratheon would have matching glowers. “That’s really not relevant, Mr Baelish,” she said crisply.

He stopped his pacing close to her and the scent of mint intensified. “You’re very like your mother,” he said, his gaze steady upon her. “She was a beautiful and desirable young woman too.”

Sansa’s brain finally caught up to what he was intending, and anger swept through her. She lurched to her feet. “I’m sorry you felt you needed to fire me,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’ll be on my way now.”

Mr Baelish took another step closer and Sansa started backing away. “I would enjoy showing you the ways of pleasure.”

Sansa’s stomach roiled at the thought of having sex to keep her job. “No, Mr Baelish.”

“It’s Petyr. Be careful, sweetling. Jobs are scarce and being fired makes it that much harder to find work. I’d hate for your family to suffer.”

“No, Mr Baelish.” Sansa had never understood Arya’s tendency to get into physical confrontations with people, instead of just using her words. Suddenly, here in the oppressive mint-scented office, it made more sense.

Mr Baelish looked hurt. “I don’t think you quite understand the position you are in. I’ve done so much for you.”

Sansa reached the door with a final “No, Mr Baelish,” before she fled, pausing only to gather her personal items from her desk before security arrived to escort her from the factory.

***

Sansa slammed the butter into the mixing bowl with a satisfying plop. She had a small amount of good Naathi vanilla extract left and added some to the bowl along with the sugar she had measured out. The idea of working through her frustrations by creaming the mixture by hand was tempting, but Sansa and the perils of reality were well acquainted and using her stand mixer was the better option. She switched it on, low at first to mix, then higher to cream.

While the mixer was working, Sansa found her muffin pan, dropping it on the bench with a loud clatter. She very much wanted to punch something, but stress baking seemed like a more sensible choice.

She located some cupcake liners in the cupboard. They were pastel pink, printed with little white flowers, invoking a mood the opposite of how she felt. She glared at them for daring to look so delicate and pretty, then placed them in the tin.

The self-raising flour had been pushed behind several items on the bottom shelf of the pantry and Sansa banged her head on the shelf above trying to retrieve it. “Shit,” she swore, tears of pain prickling her eyes.

“Sans?” Bran rolled inside the kitchen, regarding her quizzically. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Sansa poured out the appropriate amount of flour into the bowl on the kitchen scales in a white cloud of flour and rage. “I should be, yes,” she said, dusting her floury hands on her apron. “But I am baking instead.”

“You don’t look sick.” Bran tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair and hummed. “You quit your job at the dildo factory then?”

Sansa groaned. “For the last time, I file things, open the mail, answer the phone, and then I file things again. But yes, you are correct. I got fired and I worked, past tense, doing that stuff.”

“It was still a dildo factory through,” Bran said facetiously. “There’s no shame in it. It’s one of the main employers in White Harbor.”

She scowled at him. “It obviously doesn’t matter any more.”

She whirled around and yanked a carton of eggs out from the fridge and then checked the creaming butter, vanilla and sugar mixture. It looked pale enough, flecked through with tiny vanilla seeds, so she switched it off.

“Because of Rickon’s attempt at seduction behind the bike sheds?” Bran’s voice was light, but Sansa growled under her breath.

“Because Mr Baelish is unreasonable,” replied Sansa as she cracked the first egg into the creamed mixture and turned the mixer back on. “And I think he wanted an excuse to…” Sansa paused with her hand on the mixer and looked at her brother, who had enough hardship to deal with in his life. “An excuse to get rid of me. Maybe my lack of enthusiasm was showing.”

Bran nodded slowly. “You didn’t enjoy working there, anyway.”

Sansa added the next egg, adding a tablespoon of flour to stop the mixture getting too wet. “We still need to eat, Bran.”

Bran watched her bake, a pensive expression on his face. “You’re an amazing cook.”

Sansa whipped the last egg to the creamed mix. “This is baking, not cooking. “

Bran snorted. “Details, details. Anyway, Jojen’s sister has a stall at the weekly farmer’s market. Why don’t you sell your cupcakes at your own stall there?”

“That wouldn’t supply a regular income.” Sansa scraped down the sides of the bowl and gave it a final mix.

“Rickon and I can both try to get part-time jobs. Once Rickon has finished his mentoring stuff. It’s time we helped out more, anyway. You worked at the dildo factory for long enough.”

“Stop calling it that.” Sansa moved the mixer bowl to the bench and added the flour too aggressively, so she got another white puff cloud.

“You’ve got options, Sans. We’re not kids anymore.” Bran gave her a narrow-eyed stare. He was right, it was easy to forget he was an adult now too. She was so used to taking care of everyone. “If we all work part-time, if you want, you could even finish your degree part-time as well. You deserve to do what you want as much as the rest of us.”

Sansa started the fold the flour in carefully, trying to calm down so she didn’t over-mix. “I’ll consider it,” she said finally. “I hadn’t thought beyond having to work for Mr Baelish for the foreseeable future.”

Bran huffed. “You gave up your whole life to stop up being shipped off to batshit Aunt Lysa. We might not say it enough, but we’re grateful. Even Arya.”

Sansa laughed despite her bad mood. Arya had been sixteen when their parents died and had helped enormously, but she and Sansa had still continued to clash as they always had. Their relationship had improved as adults and Sansa missed her sister now that she was living in Braavos.

“I would like to finish my degree,” Sansa said slowly, spooning the now mixed cake batter into the prepared cupcake tins. “Though White Harbor University doesn’t have as many options as Kings Landing did, I might have to change my major.”

“Still better than the world’s creepiest boss at a dildo factory.”

Sansa sighed and slid her batch of cupcakes into the oven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thagomizer reference was a tribute to two of my great loves - paleontology and Far Side cartoons!
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/159497572@N07/50907221187/in/dateposted-public/)


	3. A Family of Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first ever Stannis POV, and it was fun getting inside his head. Trying to find the balance of how much information to reveal was a challenge!

“I prefer the rye flour from the Ramsgate mill. They use traditional eastern North stone grinding to produce their ryes.” Stannis frowned at the website he’d found. It featured photographic images of vast fields of wheat in golden sunshine, clearly taken somewhere in the verdant Reach, which seemed disingenuous. Their product was verified Northern though, so perhaps he might forgive them the creative license. “This one from Hornwood might be worth trying. They mill their products to order which might produce some interesting freshness, but I’d need to reevaluate flour to water ratios.”

That sounded like an entertaining project, if Stannis was being honest with himself. There was a comfort in the scientific certainty in following the same routine and producing the same product day after day, but sometimes he wanted to try something different.

No answer came from the direction of the dining table.

“Mixing the flour types might work too,” he said, tapping his fingers on the desk as he considered his options. “Freshly milled flour naturally absorbs more water than standard flour, so that might be a way to have more control but still produce something different.”

He turned around. Shireen was writing what appeared to be equations in her homework book. Her penmanship was as exceptional as always. She was, for some reason, hunched over her work. Recently she’d taken to tying her hair back off her face, which he’d been pleased to note as a sign of increasing self-confidence. Today, however, she had allowed a long curtain of hair to fall over her face, covering her scars as she had for many years.

“Shireen?” he said, raising his voice a little.

She still didn’t speak to him.

Stannis cleared his throat. “Shireen, are you well?”

“Dad, have some chill.” Shireen finally looked at him and he was alarmed to see she appeared annoyed with him. “There is literally no chill with you.”

Stannis blinked in surprise at his daughter’s sudden attack. “Why are you angry? You never used to be so disrespectful. We always used to discuss flour options.”

Shireen scowled, jiggling her pen restlessly between her fingers. “No, you used to talk endlessly at me about your flour options. Nothing I’ve ever said about flour would have made any difference.”

“You chose the Storm line,” replied Stannis, trying not to sound indignant. “It was the genesis of a most successful lineage. There’s even a jar of it in the freezer.” He nodded towards the kitchen.

“I chose it because it had a cool stag on the packaging.” Shireen stared at her textbooks, refusing to make eye contact with him anymore. “And you wouldn’t stop asking for my opinion, so I chose the stag one.”

“I asked your opinion because I value your opinion,” he said, inexplicably hurt by Shireen’s attitude. Hurt shot through with anger, because it was only recently that things had changed in their otherwise stable household. “This is that boy Rickon Stark’s influence. You’ve become sullen and insolent since you embarked on a relationship with him.”

“I thought you’d be happy about my friendship with Rickon,” said Shireen, still staring at her books.

Stannis shook his head in disbelief. “I was called in to see Principal Selmy because of him. Why would I be happy about this?”

“You had to meet Mr Selmy because of both of us. Rickon is a good guy. The best guy. And I thought you’d be pleased because he actually treats me like a person instead of a freak.” Shireen finally looked up again, but she glared at him and tapped her scarred cheek. “You know, because of the thing you’re so embarrassed about?”

The old guilt, the feeling that had haunted him for so many years, flared to life. His hubris, his neglect, writ permanently on the face of his only living child.

His failure as a father, a husband, and a man.

“There is nothing about you I find embarrassing, Shireen,” said Stannis stiffly, though with complete honesty. In light of his culpability for her disfigurement, being embarrassed by her never occurred to him. He reigned in his emotions and spoke calmly. “Be that as it may, the wrongheaded opinions of your classmates are irrelevant. You have got a bright future ahead of you. You mustn’t throw it away on the whims of others.”

Shireen banged her fist on the table, knocking her calculus textbook closed. “You’re not listening.”

He had not seen a display of temper like that from his quiet, studious daughter since well before the two of them moved to White Harbor. He narrowed his eyes. “You’re grounded for the rest of the week. Home and school only.”

“What difference does that make?” Shireen’s unscarred cheek flushed red. “I’ll tell you how much, Dad, that makes literally no difference. Those are the only places I’m allowed to go unless you want me to help out at your work. I may as well be your prisoner.”

The injustice of her claims made him snap at her. “That is incorrect. I permit you to visit with the Seaworths.”

Shireen threw her hands up in the air. “With you. When they invite us to dinner. Marya’s been asking for forever if I’d like to go to the markets with them one weekend and you won’t even let me do that.” Her voice wobbled then, and she angrily dashed the back of her hand over her eyes.

Stannis was aghast. She had never uttered a word of complaint about their lives. He latched on to the last thing she’d said. “I was not aware that Marya Seaworth wished to have an outing with you.”

“I didn’t bother to ask because I knew the answer, Dad. If you really wanted to punish me for ruining your life, you should have forced Mum to take me with her.”

A cold trickle ran down Stannis’s spine at the mention of his former wife, but he focused on his daughter, not his past. “You haven’t ruined anything for anyone. Nor could you. I only wish to spare you from harm.”

Shireen sighed and started to pack up her schoolbooks and laptop. “I’m going to study in my room,” she said, her voice sad.

“You always study at the dining table,” Stannis said, baffled by the turn the evening had taken. They always spent time together after dinner, before Stannis’s early bedtime due to his very early morning starts. Shireen would usually study, whilst Stannis would conduct research for his work or complete the cryptic crossword in that day's Northern Examiner.

“Well, I’m going to study in my room, Dad.”

The silence was heavy after Shireen stalked off and Stannis felt discomforted, like he was missing something just out of reach.

Stannis stared at the screen, but suddenly flour was less interesting than usual. He sighed and closed the browser. Taking some time to think and process current events appeared to be the most pressing matter.

He headed towards his bedroom, pausing briefly in front of Shireen’s room. Stannis could hear the faint throb of the pop music she liked, with various groups of wholesome looking young people singing cheerfully together about matters that seemed serious because life had not had a chance to truly kick them down yet.

He donned his running clothes in his bedroom, along with a cap pulled low over his eyes. He left off his usual dark sunglasses since it was approaching night outside. People seldom recognised him north of the Neck, which was, in large part, the appeal of White Harbor, but he was not in the mood to risk it this evening.

Shireen gave a dismissive acknowledgment when he informed her that he was off for a run.

The streets were quiet at this time in the evening, and the sharp Northern chill burned his lungs as he started his favoured route. He usually ran after work, early afternoon typically, unless weather conditions rendered that unwise. White Harbor was the most temperate place in the North due to the warming influence of the ocean, a fact he reminded himself of frequently during the long, bitter winters.

His route took him past the town’s largest employer, Mockingbird Adult Enterprises. The golden statue of a mockingbird stood out the front, elongated in pose and oddly phallic in shape. Undeniably vulgar in any case. A shimmering blue banner across the main building proclaimed ‘experience the power and majesty of the Kraken, new range cumming soon.’

Stannis grimaced and focused on his path, not the factory. He was fortunate indeed to have his own business and was spared the indignity of having to work for an individual such as the Mockingbird owner. He had known enough men like Petyr Baelish for one lifetime.

A flash of auburn caught his eye from in front of the factory and he stumbled his stride. For a moment Stannis thought he saw the young woman from yesterday’s meeting with Principal Selmy and his traitorous heart had started to race. It wasn’t her though, this woman was another pretty red head in impossibly high shoes, carrying a bundle of files under her arm.

His throat burned uncomfortably as he recalled the meeting. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen, coming to support her reprobate brother. For a brief moment he’d felt twenty years younger, the startling spark of attraction rendering him stupid. Mercifully the stark reality had slammed back in and he’d been able to focus on the matter of his daughter, not the sister of the boy leading his only child astray.

Women that attractive had an awareness of their own power over others, every intention of getting their own way regardless of who it hurt. Some very comely woman had been part of his life, and every single one a viper.

Stannis’s breath clouded in front of him and he rounded the point that would take him back towards home. Shireen would most likely be asleep by the time he arrived, but perhaps she’d be more interested in talking tomorrow.

Shireen had shown no particular inclination to deviate from their quiet routine. He knew well the horrified reactions her scars could provoke in ignorant people. As far as he understood, she was unaware of the photos of her as a very young child that had been widely circulated in the press. His lawyers had ensured they’d been scrubbed from any websites and her name removed from lurid articles. His name had been sullied enough, but he only wished to spare Shireen from further trauma.

Stannis slowed down, then stopped to stretch beside the lookout over the town. Lights reflected on the turbulent waters of the famous harbor, and Seal Rock with its well-lit fortification ruins were just visible in the distance. He always liked this view, the reminder of their chosen home, a place of safety for his family of two. Completing his last set of stretches, he resumed his course.

He had tried to do his best by Shireen after the spectre of greyscale blighted their lives. He’d been a single father for years by the time she reached puberty, but he’d done extensive research on menstruation and obtained several well-regarded books on the subject so they could go through them together. Sex education had been worse, but he’d gritted his teeth and found the most objectively factual modern books. Those books had seemed to focus more on healthy relationships rather than simply the physical side of things, but privately it was a relief that Shireen had not shown much romantic interest in boys. Or girls for that matter. Relationships were a more difficult topic to research, and given Shireen’s first-hand awareness of his own missteps it felt disingenuous to pretend he was qualified to dispense advice.

He ran past a series of posters advertising the upcoming market day and huffed. He appreciated local produce, of course, but relied on deliveries. It never occurred to him that Shireen might actually want to attend something like that.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt blindsided by Shireen’s conduct at school. She’d never even mentioned the boy, Rickon, nor told him that the teasing about her appearance she’d often endured still continued into senior school. Stannis had assumed the other children had stopped that behaviour as they grew up and matured. The only recent official communication from the school, until yesterday’s meeting, was about Shireen’s perfect academic record.

His muscles burned but he ran faster. The pain was a catharsis, or a punishment. He was undecided which was true.

Perhaps he should ask Marya Seaworth if she would like to take Shireen on an outing. Marya seemed to be a competent mother to the vast brood of Seaworth boys. Surely Shireen would be in safe hands there, protected from any situations with hostile people.

He obviously needed to consider why Shireen’s behaviour was so out of character. Perhaps allowing her this might provide some answers.


End file.
